


Pink

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Bucky Barnes Finds a Friend [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers
Genre: Bucky Barnes also finds a Boyfriend, Bucky Barnes finds a Friend, M/M, Nor will it ever be, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, PTSD, Pets, Recovery, The Avengers Have Issues, Therapy, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Violent reactions, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: Bucky has a Very Bad Night. Then Tony steps into the picture. Somehow, this is not a story about Bucky killing Tony.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. Barely finished. So I'm also putting it into the "Cleaning out my Drive" series.

Bucky stares hard at his therapist and slurps at his triple espresso. “Z’at supposed to help me?”

Dr. Turner smiles at him, beatifically and just a little patronizing if you ask him. Well, it seems that way. He’s not the one trying to foist a fucking baby blanket onto an assassin, though. Her voice is soft but firm when she speaks. “It’ll only help -”

“If I let it help, yes. I get it.” He scrubs his metal hand over his face. “But does it have to be pink?”

“The furthest color from your past, I’m sure.”

Bucky inhales, still smelling metallic flames and tasting rust. His latest nightmare did a number on him. He’d been trying to sleep on the couch after the latest mission, and something niggled something else trapped in his head and now Clint has a concussion from Bucky’s left fist, which no. Absolutely fucking not happening. In a terror-induced daze, he’d called Dr. Turner and asked for an emergency meeting in a park, somewhere public where he wouldn’t… you know. Freak out? Kill his therapist? Kill everyone? He’d made tracks out of the apartment like his ass was on fire, ignoring the pleas coming from his boyfriend, and went to the park early. He milled about. He smiled at small children and got a Frisbee out of a tree. He’d even bought coffee and crepes. And what does he get for coming out here, in the open with gifts to appease the one person alive that knows everything he does and everything he’s done? She puts a wrapped pink blanket in his lap as they sip at their coffees on the bench. He narrows his gaze and lowers it to the fuzzy block. “It has a damned bow on it.” For the record, the bow is also pink, just a different shade.

“It’s soft. Warm.”

“Pink.” He has to emphasize the pink. Because it’s so pink. Really pink.

“Why are you focused on the color, James?”

He glares. “I dunno, I’m a guy?”

Dr. Turner offers that smile again. “So, gender associations with a particular color.”

He groans. “For Pete’s sake, there’s nothing wrong with - look. I’m from the turn of the century, Doc. I didn’t wear pink back then. I’m sure as hell not gonna start now. Nothin’ gender-associating about it. If a guy wants to wear pink or play with Barbies or paint his nails, I ain’t gonna stop him. But I’m not that kinda guy, get me?”

That earns him a chuckle. “You aren’t going to be wearing it unless you want to, James.”

“I bought you coffee,  _ Diane _ .” Don’t get him wrong, he loves Doc Turner. But she can sometimes be a pain in his rear. “I don’t like pink.”

“You’ll be alright, James.” She gets to her feet. “I promise. It’s a bump in the road.”

“More like a bomb crater,” he mutters. He wishes he brought his backpack so he can hide this monstrosity. Everyone’s staring at him. His next words are less mutter and more breath. “I coulda killed him.”

“But you stopped when he said your name. Progress, James. Little steps, remember.”

“I was past this.”

“If you slip in the mud, readjust your rucksack and keep going.”

Worst part about it is that she knows what that mud tastes like, personally. Both metaphorically and literally. That’s what Bucky likes about her. About Wilson. They  _ know. _

She pats his leg and makes sure he will be alright, then leaves him for another appointment. It’s a scheduled one, so he couldn’t just kidnap her and take her to Coney Island to thank her for dealing with the sack of wet cats in his head. He scowls at the blanket again and stalks off down the walking path. It’s a beautiful summer day, and the whole city is outside enjoying it. They move out of his way. He knows it’s just courtesy, he knows he no longer looks like he's...well...yeah. The part of his brain that fuckin’ hates him is screaming, though, and he can't turn it off today.

“Hiya, Robocop!” _F_ _ uck me twice.  _ Bucky resolutely hides the twitch reflex as Tony Stark comes up behind him  and claps him on the shoulder. “What’s shakin’? Ooh!” He tugs the blanket out of Bucky’s hand. Bucky doesn’t even bother resisting. “New blankey?”

Bucky starts counting backwards from one million, three hundred and twenty seven thousand, six hundred and fifty three, one million three hundred twenty seven thousand six hundred fifty two…

“Aww, so soft and fuzzy. Gonna take it home to your cat? Because I’m kind of tired of her dragging shirts throughout the Tower. Just sayin’.”

“You could just burn it for me,” Bucky replies in a monotone. “I hate pink.” One million three hundred twenty seven thousand six hundred  _ I’m going to kill this bastard with my bare hands just you watch  _ forty five…

“Also, can we be done with the ‘woe is me, my life is horrible and I should turn to dust’ soundtrack? You have sad violins following you everywhere. It’s annoying and it’s making Steve sad, which leads to massive headaches for everyone because then he mopes around like…”

One fucking million three hundred twenty seven  _ fuck this shit. _ “If you finish that sentence, so help me god I will gut you.” He winces as the words come out of his mouth because yeah. Yeah, he really could. He clenches his fists because he isn’t holding the blanket anymore. He really could. Even after everything...

“And I’m crushed. You and I used to have a thing, right? And now you’re all salty. It was just one night, baby. I promise I won’t do it again.” Tony’s hand flies to his chest. “I feel so attacked right now. And I was going to say a kicked puppy.”

Bucky stops walking and wheels into Tony’s face. “Listen. I’ve had a rough night, okay?” Tony rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. Bucky plows on. “Remember when you all threatened my life if I hurt Clint? I do. Big ol’ birthday bash for the old war vet? Well, I hurt him, and look at me still breathing. I don’t feel threatened. Honestly? Not feeling bubbly about that.”

“Really? That was for show, Barnes. You know that Clint can hold his own, he doesn’t need our help - ”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Bucky mutters.

"Oh, for -"

“So I’m took it into my own hands and went back to my therapist, hoping for some help."

"See! You're a big boy, you can resist your murderous impulses and find help!" Tony spreads his arms wide, the blanket clenched in one fist. "You're almost ready to get a real job and buy your own peanut butter!"

"Fat lot of good it did, all Doc did is hand me a fuckin’ blanket like it’s supposed to keep all the mean monsters away.”

“Hey, it works for kids.” Tony says.

Bucky leans in until he’s nose to nose with the smug bastard. “If you don’t want the sad sack routine, I can regress back to the freak I was before, only now I have a fuckin’  _ pink _ blanket to tie around your fuckin’ necks! Would you rather have that?”

Tony raises an eyebrow.

Bucky snorts. “Didn’t think so.”

“Listen up, Freezerburn." Tony's eyes sharpen as he looks down his nose at Bucky. "If you think you are even capable of that level of mindfuck on your own, Barnes, have at it.” Tony shoves the blanket to Bucky’s chest and shoves him back. “The very fact you let me push you until you're snarling in my face is proof you can't do it. You think you are a walking nuclear waste pile. You are so sure you are going to murder everyone, that you are capable of killing everyone you hold dear to you the moment you trip up. Well, I call bullshit. They literally had to put a leash on your neck and words in your head in order for you to help them. You can’t be a murderer all by yourself. You don’t have it in you.”

“The hell I don’t,” Bucky absolutely does  _ not _ whimper. The words Tony says cut through his mood. 

Tony stabs a finger at the blanket. “ _ You _ say you can’t trust yourself after a little nightmare. You just don’t know yourself, and you don’t know AARP.”

“What?” Bucky stares. “What the hell is that -”

“Nevermind, it’s a commercial, but maybe you should look into it, you're like a hundred years old, right?" Bucky's lost. His face must show it, because Tony sighs. "I forget you don’t watch normal television because  you hang around Barton all the time. Like, you are attached to his hip. It’s gross and bothers me on a personal level when I think about how you and him are actually having sex on the regular and wow, I’m getting sick just thinking about it.” Bucky growls, and Tony finally puts his hands up in surrender. “Oh, alright. I’ll stop poking the bear. What I’m trying to say is we’re all a big bag of crazies. Welcome to the clubhouse. We have a Banner and everything.”

“Whatever.” Bucky grumbles. “I don’t need this.” He moves to go around Tony’s wall of words, but the man stops him again. The haunt in his eyes does more to halt Bucky than the hand against his chest. He stares at it, then stares at Tony.

Slowly, Tony takes his hand away. “Listen. I’m not good at this, this hand-holding KumBaYa stuff. So all I can do is talk. You know that. So let me tell you about your new comrades. I woke up with the gauntlet on my hand and pointed at Pepper once. Twice, actually. I didn’t feel safe without it at the bedside, and then I go and nearly blast my woman out the window. Know what she did? She slapped me in the face repeatedly until I woke up for real and then made me coffee when I refused to go back to sleep.” Bucky sucks in a resigned breath and nods. He’s heard this one before, from Pepper herself. He’s about to assure Tony that he doesn’t have to air out his dirty drawers when he continues. “Steve nearly snapped my neck after waking up fighting Red Skull."

Bucky blinks. He knew Steve had nightmares, but...

"And he and I have gone a few rounds over it," Tony continues. "He’s got the same complex you seem to have, the 'Friend Not Food' thing, only with a golden retriever mope attached to it. I threatened to drop him back into the Arctic Ocean and boy, did I ever learn what his nightmares are really about. Captain America having a panic attack in your living room at three in the morning is terrifying on a whole new level. I've suggested a few therapists for him, but he's blocking me. So congratulations, Time Bomb, you are further along in your recovery than he is."

"Great." Bucky's already thinking about the next conversation with Diane.

Tony plows on. "I've caught Sam in the middle of a meltdown in the kitchen after watching his best friend fall over and over again in his head. Let’s never mention the prank Clint played on Bruce that nearly killed us all. Ever. I hated rebuilding that floor, for real. Natasha...well, I’d rather not get involved with that scary trainwreck.”

“Red Room,” Bucky mutters.

Tony nods. “They have had very intense eye conversations after she mops the floor with him when he manages to sneak up on her.” He doesn’t have to say who ‘they’ are, of course. Bucky has watched in horror as Clint and Natasha somehow really spooked each other in the kitchen of the Tower. Thankfully, it was over very quickly. Natasha only needed ten stitches, and she offered to reset Clint’s shoulder for him. Tony sticks a finger in the air. “Oh, and out of all of our fucked-up little family, Clint is the most dangerous. How about that time that he stalked me in my own Tower, arrow knocked to bowstring because he thought I was Loki? Steve spent Christmas Day in a sling because he asked Clint the wrong question about his childhood at the absolute wrong time. Or the time he rounded on you with a knife and buried it into your hip because you touched his shoulder on a ‘bad’ day?”

“That  _ was _ a bad day,” Bucky mutters, knowing how it sounds the moment it leaves his mouth. Tony shakes his head and stares right at him.

“Bad night, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Tony snorts. “Dude has bad days like we have bad years. He’s completely messed up. So messed up. And yet, he’s sleeping on my couch, being a functional human being even while being worried about you.” Bucky winces. “Moral of the story is?”

Bucky buries the guilt with a glare. “I’m literally armed all the time.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Steve. Clint. Natasha -”

“I have a metal arm. I can crush metal and rip -”

“Steering wheels out of cars.”

“Fucking -” Bucky can’t help but chuckle a little at that one.

Tony’s face breaks out of the angry glare he’s sporting. “You are never going to hear the end of that one. Also, all things Steve can do, without a metal arm. Maybe I should start teasing him about steering wheels, because he  _ has _ done it.” He chews on his cheek. “I make suits of armor to make up for my shortcomings. Suits that can literally destroy things. One can take on the Hulk. I'm sure one of them can take you on. Talk about an expensive habit. Want my advice?”

“No, but I’m going to get it anyway, aren’t I?”

 

“I’m serious, somehow. Serious is happening. It’s itchy.” Tony blinks. “Don’t undo all the hard work you’ve put into yourself, Barnes. It’s going to happen. There’s going to be bad nights. There’s going to be bad days. It’s part of healing. Wow, I’m a pod-person. I’m making sense, and that’s terrifying. And now I’m going to do something that is even more terrifying. I’m sorry if you feel uncomfortable, except I really don’t feel sorry. It’s as freaky for me as it is for you, trust me.” Tony comes forward and puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder once more. This time, it feels like a comfort. Yeah. It’s terrifying. “My actual advice is this. That blanket is a cheeseburger. It’ll help you come back.” He turns away and walks away, throwing over his shoulder, “When you are ready to stop being a hermit, the door is open and the stairs are still there. Clint’s waiting for you.”

Bucky stares after him. When the car is gone in traffic, he mutters, “A cheeseburger?”

  
  
  


Clint’s Bed-Stuy apartment complex has been fixed up since HYDRA flipped their shit all over the place. There’s been upgrades, too. Bucky waves half-heartedly at the Latino kids flying down the hall as he knocks, then uses his key to open the door. The apartment is empty of life. Well, probably cockroaches and spiders live there, but welcome to life in a city. But at least the lights work when he flips them on, and there’s a television again. The couch is new-ish, and - 

“Oh, hello there, Little Shit.” Bucky worries that Clint is here too, but that man makes more noise than a migrating wildebeest herd when he wants to. In fact, Natasha has mentioned that Clint will be quiet until Bucky is around, then he starts making noise. Son of a bitch. The thought makes him smile through the pain of not actually having Clint there with him. Little Shit purrs at him and leaps onto his shoulders. “Got a blanket for you.” His heart is a lump of granite in his chest as he drops onto the couch cushions, tossing the blanket to the floor and grabbing the remote off the coffee table. The small smile is gone already. The cat meeps and burrows into his hair. “Glad to see you’re not afraid of me.” He flips on the television and is met with static. Either the cable and DVR hasn’t been hooked up yet, or Stark is messing with him. He pushes the channel buttons and finds more static. “Asshole. Do not deny me Dog Cops. I'm even further behind than Clint, I need to know how Lieutenant Rascal found the missing puppies! Let me have a shining spot in this shithole of a day.” Suddenly, an image brightens the screen, making Bucky jump. He leans forward and looks at it. It’s a press shot, a video made with a cell phone. It’s shocking how bad the quality is, but it’s clearly Tony Stark. His arm is in a sling, he’s got a suit jacket over his shoulders, and he’s on the floor in front of a podium.

With a cheeseburger.

Bucky watches the short video, where Tony makes some monumental choices. He focuses on the cheeseburger in Tony's hand. He remembers Natasha and Steve talking about that day, how Tony had all but commandeered his ride to stop so he could get the burger.

_ It’ll help you come back. _

Bucky feels the granite in his chest turn to lead. That video was taken mere hours after Stark had been saved from the desert. He’d been thrust right back into the spotlight with no thoughts to his mental welfare. It had been contrived, a plan that failed, but still. Stark deliberately got the one thing that didn’t remind him of being a captive.

Steve surrounds himself with technology. He's let go of the horrors of the past, even though they still haunt him. He leaps into the tech Tony gives them and generally makes Tony go completely nuts with more tech. Natasha spends time just watching people. Not doing anything, not saying anything, not gathering information. She just sits and watches and enjoys it. Sam laughs and jokes and works with veterans and doesn’t stare at Steve like he’s the reincarnation of Riley. Bruce heals people and helps people and meditates. And Clint - Clint surrounds himself with friends. He surrounds himself with animals. He has money he doesn’t spend and has neighbors he talks to and he plays with the children and is nothing like his father. He smiles and laughs like Sam does, wholeheartedly and with every ounce of feeling in his whole body. He lives. Everyone lives.

Bucky picks the bundled blanket off the floor and unwraps it. He ties the pink bow into his hair like a bandana. He shakes out the pink monstrosity and lays it over his lap. Little Shit is right there, making biscuits and settling down on his knees. After the video cuts to black, the news flickers on. Tony Stark is standing in front of a Hope House shelter, Pepper at his side. He’s solemn as he talks into microphones about abuse, refusing to crack jokes or even laugh as he announces the donation of thousands of dollars along with many more thousands worth of supplies. Feminine supplies. Medical services, both physical and mental. Skin care and hair care and toys for the children. Blankets.

Bucky curls up into his blanket and presses his lips together to keep his emotions at bay.

Tony announces that he will also be donating similar supplies to veteran’s services and homeless shelters. Equal opportunity for all the ones left behind. “Because everyone deserves to come back home, no matter where that home is. I’ve been there. I’m still coming home some days. But there are others out there, others who aren’t as lucky as I have been. And I’ve been lucky. I’ve had a support team with me the entire way, no matter how hard I’ve pushed them away. These people don’t have that support team. I’m going to change that. I will be your support team. I’m horrible at it, by the way. But if you need a shoulder to cry on, I will provide that. The Martha Stark Foundation…”

Bucky tunes the rest out, struck stupid by Tony’s words.  _ Everyone deserves to come back home. No matter where that home is. _ Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s biting his lips bloody. And damn it, he's got a support system. Granted, that support system is as close to coming off the rails as he is, but it's still there.

“Heya.”

Bucky jerks away from the television to find Clint at the open door. He has a bandage on his temple, and the bruising blossoms out from under it. Lucky is already snuffling around Bucky’s blanket. The dog can move as quiet as his owner some days. “Hey yourself.” Bucky keeps his voice low, in case his boyfriend has a headache.

Clint smiles, crooked and beautiful. “Nice hairdo, man. Doc?” He points at the blanket.

Bucky nods.

“Yeah. Mine’s purple.”

“At least you got your favorite color, asshole.” Bucky grins through his tears. Clint shuffles over and sits on the couch, not touching Bucky. It’s a routine they have for when things have gone a little pear-shaped for one or the other. No touching until invited.

“You saw, huh?” Clint points at the television this time. “It’s all over.”

“Yeah.”

“Stark’s a good guy. Sometimes he needs his head pulled out of his ass with a deep sea diving team and detcord, but other than that he’s a good guy.”

“Not everyone can be perfect.” Bucky burrows deeper into the cushions. “Not like you.”

“Ha. That’s me, Mr. Perfect. Should have my own jingle.” Clint leans back. “Feel like coming home yet?”

Bucky topples into Clint’s lap. Little Shit yowls at the disturbance, but makes a new nest on Bucky’s shoulder. Lucky hops onto the couch and lays down behind Bucky’s curled legs. “M’already home.”


End file.
